


i'm saucing on you

by Boardingschooled



Series: (this is) the good life [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Gross Hot, M/M, Minor Barb Holland/Robin Buckley, Minor Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boardingschooled/pseuds/Boardingschooled
Summary: Steve wants a ticket to the biggest party on campus; Billy's got one with Steve's name on it.(Or, Steve has a crush, and so does Billy, and everybody's tired of their history of mutual pining.)





	i'm saucing on you

**Author's Note:**

> So recently I remembered that Row Week exists and took a break from wrestling the next chapter of _bet you'd live here if you could_ to write what I thought would be a 6K frat au and leave it at that. (Whoops!) Row Week is kind of hard to explain, but I'll do my best here for anyone (by which I mean nearly everyone, because afaik there's only one college that does it) who hasn't heard of Row Week:
> 
> One week in the middle of the spring semester, these ugly-ass twelve-foot-tall fences start appearing around all the frat houses on Frat Row, built by sunburnt, dehydrated pledges. Frats pay some musical artist (almost always a rapper; apparently last year Waka Flocka Flame performed??) a stupid amount of money to come perform for a bunch of drunk-ass white kids. It’s basically a week-long party for all the frats and srats (sororities). Frat guys get a certain amount of wristbands to hand out to people they want to invite. For a while, all cute (as determined by frat boys) girls got in for free and the bands were for your friends in other frats and stuff, but then there was this big deal with the fire marshal and now they have to do the concerts at, like, _real concert venues_. (They apparently still build the fences around the frat houses??) There’s also a ton of competition to get wristbands now, too, to the point that there are some pretty slut-shamey jokes about girls who get a wristband to every concert. 
> 
> The fence makes it pretty much impossible for police to see any illegal activities that go on while the party’s going, although they say it’s for security and safety purposes. There’s only one entrance so they have some frat boy and a police officer checking IDs at the gate and once you’re inside there’s not really any rules anymore so (shrug emoji). Lots of underage drinking, lots of party drugs, sometimes frat boy fights break out too!! If you want to learn more about it, [here’s an article](https://www.theodysseyonline.com/oh-what-a-row-week) and [a video from a few years ago](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsEZ5ik2YXk&t=28s) that captures the experience pretty well, apparently. 
> 
> Also: all the frats and srats in this fic are real. Billy's a Tau Kappa Epsilon (TKE, pronounced "teek") because I can _absolutely_ imagine him as a TKE and nothing else.
> 
> This work was absolutely inspired by the college/frat AUs by [u/thecopperkid,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperkid/pseuds/thecopperkid) [u/brawlite,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite) and [u/toastranger.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger) DEF go check out their stuff if you haven't already!!
> 
> LASTLY, a quick trigger warning: there are two blink-and-you'll-miss-'em references to alcohol-facilitated sexual assault.

Some girl from his Sociology of Crime class posts this thing on her Insta story a few weeks after midterms, _ Row Week Line-Up 2019_. Normally Steve just swipes past her stories because, like, there’s only so many times he can watch videos of her taking shots and grinding on her friends in dark-ass frat houses, but something catches his eye this time. He’s laying on his bed, still a little stoned from when he and Barb and Jonathan smoked a couple blunts earlier, in the little grove of trees right off campus property that campus security doesn’t know about yet. Right as he’s about to flick to someone else’s story, he sees _ FRIDAY//AMINE//TKE _ and _ shit_, Amine is _ so fucking good_. 

Steve has _ got _ to get a fucking wristband. He _ needs _ to see Amine and this is his best fucking chance to. The problem, though, is that Row Week is _ next week_, like, there’s _ no fucking way _ he’s gonna find somebody with extra wristbands this late in the game. Who the fuck does he even _ know _ who pledged TKE, other than _ Tommy _ who had dropped Steve the second that rush week started, Tommy who says all kinds of outdated, homophobic shit under his breath to his brothers about Steve when they run into each other in the good dining hall. Even if Steve _ did _ stoop to asking Tommy for a wristband, there’s about a snowball’s chance in _ hell _ that Tommy would do anything other than laugh in his face and call him a pussy. 

He’s still thinking about what fucking TKEs he knows the next day when he takes his usual seat in his Criminology lecture. Since his class right before this one’s literally on the other corner of campus, he’s usually one of the last people in the room, so he sits in the back with all the other underachievers. As he’s trying to find his Crim notebook in his fucking _ wreck _ of a backpack before the prof says anything _ important_, Billy Hargrove shoves past him, drops heavily into the seat next to Steve. 

Billy’s fucking _ hot_, in that gross, frat boy kind of way, like, he rocked a fucking _ mullet _ for a few months and _ pulled it off, _so he's basically Steve's type to a tee. Steve’s only ever seen Billy wear teeny little mid-thigh shorts, threadbare sweats, and ripped jeans so tight Steve can tell which way Billy hangs. When he doesn’t smell like beer or pot smoke, he wears this woodsy cologne that Steve thinks is _ incredibly _ douchey for some reason, probably because it gives him an embarrassing, Pavlovian half-chub every time Billy squeezes past him to get to his seat. He’s always got something in his fucking _ mouth_, a pen or his knuckle or the gum he snaps all the goddamn time, and when he doesn't he's got his _tongue out_ like he's always half a second from licking somebody. So, like, Billy’s kind of a dick and he’s the biggest walking frat boy stereotype Steve’s ever seen in person, but, Steve _ would_, if he got half a chance.

Steve’s only a little bit ashamed to admit that frat boys are kind of his type, but Billy is _ everybody’s _ type. Their Criminology professor, Mary, (_don’t call me professor or doctor or anything, it freaks me out a little_, he hears her explaining in the back of his mind) is this super-feminist, woke-as-hell woman in her thirties who only wears vintage clothes and doesn’t shave her pits and stuff, but even _ she _ melts a little when Billy makes some stupid fucking joke. Once, Steve saw her twirling her hair around her finger like some starry-eyed freshman when he was slow packing up and Billy went up to ask for an extension on an essay. Steve’s _ seen _ Billy’s arms after a busy weekend, and apparently he keeps a fucking _ sharpie _ on him so girls can just, like, write their numbers on him? Billy’s distracting as hell, all things considered, but Steve hasn’t moved seats or anything. He likes to pretend that it’s because even if the prof doesn’t assign seats, everybody has their assigned seat; he knows he’s lying to himself. 

Billy’s family moved to Hawkins right after Steve’s gap year; his kid sister Max is friends with all the dorks Steve’s collected since he met Dustin when his dad made him join Big Brothers, Big Sisters to _ help round out his college applications_. There had been this awkward moment where Billy had accused Steve of, like, trying to _ creep on Max _ or something, like, _ ew_, she’s a fucking _child_, but Max had apparently yelled at him for a thousand years at the very _ mention _ of it and it had gotten dealt with _ real _ fuckin’ quick. Billy’s getting his degree in Criminal Justice too, so he and Steve usually have at least one class together a semester, and ever since Thanksgiving Break their freshman year, Billy had been everywhere Steve was, dealing with the kids at the arcade and D&D night and shit. 

Billy acknowledges Steve exists and he usually isn't even that much of a dick for a frat boy, but it’s not like they’re _ friends _ or anything. Billy’s fucking _ miles _ above him on the social ladder or whatever, pledged some frat last year and got elected for some Student Government thing this year even though he’s only a sophomore. He’s kind of an asshole, in that way frat guys can be, all _ I rage harder than you, I fuck hotter girls than you, I’m better than you _ and shit, but they blaze together sometimes when they’re back in Hawkins, waiting for the kids to get out of their movie or whatever. They share notes when one of them’s absent, and last semester they’d gotten together with a couple other people to study for their Psych final. 

Steve’s distracted from the powerpoint on the screen when Billy pulls off his stupid BAPE hoodie most of the way through class and Steve sees the wristbands piled on Billy’s right forearm. Is Billy even a TKE? If he _ is_, maybe Steve won’t have to shell out some _ stupid _ amount of cash to buy a band from somebody he doesn’t even know. He’s trying to decipher what’s scribbled on the wristband in that impossible-to-read fake-graffiti font without Billy noticing when suddenly Billy pushes his own notebook closer to Steve, taps the chewed-up end of his pen in the corner of one page to draw attention to the note he’s written. 

_ Like what you see, princess? _ Billy’s scrawled in his barely-legible handwriting, and Steve glances over at Billy’s face, rolls his eyes. 

_ You’re a TKE, right? _ Steve writes in the margin of his own paper. He’s, like, eighty percent sure he’s seen Billy wearing TKE’s letters, and he’s heard Greek life people bitching about not wearing somebody else’s letters before, so he’s willing to take the risk. 

_ Yeah, why? You thinking about rushing, Harrington? _ Billy scribbles once he’s done writing down whatever was on the last slide. He huffs out a laugh under his breath at the (probably horrified) look on Steve’s face, but before Steve can compose himself enough to write a response, everybody starts shoving their stuff into their bags and the professor’s telling them to have a nice weekend. 

“So, Harrington,” Billy asks all cocky as he throws an arm over Steve’s shoulders, steers him toward the door, “You lookin’ to join the dopest fucking frat on campus?”

“_Hell _ no,” Steve shoots back, fake venom in his voice, and Billy laughs that laugh that _ destroys _ Steve, the one where he throws his head back and all the tendons and muscles and shit in his neck stand out in stark relief. 

“Then why you wanna know about TKE?” Billy’s backpack is knocking against Steve’s as they walk, and there’s a hollow sound where one of Billy’s books must be hitting Steve’s empty water bottle. 

“Uh, I wanted to see if you still had any wristbands for the Amine concert,” Steve says, and curses himself for how fucking _ awkward _ he sounds. 

“_ Well_,” Billy sighs, like he’s got a hard decision to make or some shit, “I might have one or two that aren’t spoken for, but, like, the brothers don’t want it to be a sausage-fest. Why should I give _ you _ one when I could give one to some dime piece from Tri-Delt and get some fuckin’ _ dome _ for it?” _ God _ , Steve remembers why Nancy gets all worked up about _ how sexist and racist and _ fucked up _ the greek life system is _ every time he hears frat dudes talk about girls. Billy sounds like a fucking parody, like he's _trying_ to sound like everybody's frat boy fantasies or something.

“Isn’t that, like, _ sex work _ or something?” Steve asks, rather than answer Billy’s question, mostly because he doesn’t have a good fucking answer. “Like, you’re exchanging goods for sex, didn’t Mary say last week that that’s sex work?”

“It’s not that fuckin’ _ deep_, dude,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like there’s a _ price _ that girls have to pay, that isn’t fuckin’ cool, I’m not an _ SAE _ or some shit. Like, she’d probably slob on my knob either way, this just tips the odds a little more in my favor, you know?” 

“Ugh, _ gross_, whatever, give it to some srat girl then.” Steve shrugs out from under Billy’s arm, bites his lip and _ wants_, now that he’s not all wrapped up in Billy’s pot-sweat-and-cologne smell. “I’ll find another one, it’s chill.” He starts to walk away, mentally preparing to shoot Tommy a DM or something, look on Facebook Marketplace.

“Wait,” Billy says, sounds a little--_desperate, _ maybe? “I didn’t say I wouldn’t give you one, Harrington, just that you’d better make it worth my while.” 

“What do you mean, _ make it worth your while? _ I’m not doing your fucking _ laundry _ or some shit, I know you already have pledges to do your grunt work. Fuckin, _ last week _ I saw some pledge hand-washing your Camaro.” Steve doesn’t turn back toward Billy, but he does stop walking away, and he feels Billy come up next to him. 

“Let’s say...you owe me one_ favor._” Billy’s got that fucking _ leer _ in his voice, the one that probably drops girls’ panties every time he pulls it out of his arsenal, and he’s got on his best _ say you will, please and thank you _ smile on when Steve looks back at him. “Nothing shitty, nothing weird, I’ll give you a fucking _ veto _ or whatever if you’re gonna be a pussy about it.” 

All the things Billy _ could _ ask run through Steve’s head for a second, but, like. Billy’s an asshole, but he’s not an _ asshole_, he’s not gonna make Steve do anything _ that bad_. He’ll probably just make Steve ferry Max around more than usual over this summer so he can get drunk and stoned at the quarry or whatever.

“Fuck it, why not,” Steve says, putting out his hand for Billy to shake, to seal the deal.

“_S__ick_,” Billy says, and after he shakes Steve’s hand, he slides their palms together, daps Steve’s knuckles once. _ God_, Steve has shit taste in dudes. He likes girls that are prim and proper and nice enough to meet his parents and can still kick his ass, but his taste in guys is _ atrocious_. 

“Come through next Friday at like six thirty, bring some of that good weed I know you have and you can pregame with us before we open the fence. The theme’s _ Jungle Fever_, so dress accordingly, shithead,” Billy lectures as he takes off a wristband, snaps it closed around Steve’s wrist. “And _ don’t _ lose that thing, for the love of _ god_.” He gives Steve a bro-hug, thumps Steve’s ribs so hard it almost hurts to breathe for a second, and waves a sloppy salute in Steve’s direction as he leaves. 

<hr>

“_God_, I can’t _ believe _ you’re supporting Row Week,” Nancy’s bitching at Steve over her Women’s History textbook; Barb and Jonathan are sitting at their usual table on the group work floor of the library, too, but they’ve both kept their mouths wisely shut. “You _ know _ what kind of shit _ happens _ at Row Week, right? Sadie said they have to have extra volunteers for the crisis line the _ whole week _ because they get so many more calls than usual.”

“Nance,” Steve starts when it seems like she’s waiting for a response from him and not just talking to hear herself speak, “I don’t like frats any more than you do, but if they’re gonna bring in _ my favorite rapper _ and me going to the concert doesn’t _ make anybody less safe _ or whatever, I’m gonna _ go_. It’s not like I’m trying to _ rush _ or anything, right?” She narrows her eyes at him, but before she can get on her high horse again he has a flash of brilliance.

“I mean, he was gonna give my wristband to some _ girl _ if he hadn’t given it to me, like, if you _ think about it_, I’m keeping one more girl from being in a possibly unsafe situation.” Nancy looks like she wants to argue some more, but Barb, angel from heaven that she is, asks Nancy to proofread her essay to distracts her. 

“Hey, Barb, will you look over my trig homework?” Steve asks, taking the Hail Mary pass Barbs given him. “Oh, also, you guys wanna watch a movie in my dorm room later? I can UberEats something.” 

“Lit mag thing ‘til nine,” Jonathan says without looking up from his sketchbook. “But I can swing by after, if you guys are still up and around.”

“I have a No Woman Left Behind meeting until eight-thirty, but we can do something after, I don’t have class till ten-thirty-five tomorrow,” Nancy murmurs, still focused on Barb’s laptop screen. “Barbs, did you _ mean _ to use the passive voice in the third paragraph or do you want me to edit it out?”

“Edit it out, god, you _ know _ I’m only taking Comp II because I can’t graduate without it, just _ fix it_,” Barb sighs, acting like she’s gonna slam her head into the table to make Steve laugh. “This looks pretty good, Steve, there are a few little things but I figure you don’t want me to fix _ every _ mistake, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, the prof still has to think _ I _ did it, right?” Steve jokes, and all three of them snap their heads up to give him the little glare they’ve been giving him more often lately, the one that says _ stop putting yourself down, we’ve talked about this_. They’re all about being supportive and shit, and it is kinda helping; Steve doesn’t look at his tests and _ only _ see the wrong answers anymore, and he’s started speaking up in his classes more often now that he’s more confident about his opinions. On his last Crim essay, Mary’d even written _Nice analysis of the patriarchal nature of criminalizing sex work, Steve!_

“_So_,” Barb says pointedly after they all go back to their work, “_I’m _ free tonight. I was gonna go to the Pride meeting, if you wanna go with me, but no pressure, you know, I can always go next week.” She’s been, like, _ way chill _ about his coming out, not that any of them were assholes about it really. Nancy had had some weird freakout about whether she was an _ experiment _ for him and Barb had gotten all pissy at her and lectured her about biphobia and a whole bunch of other stuff and Nancy had apologized, but after, like, three days, everybody’d moved on to poking fun at his taste in men, very gently. Barb’s _ super _ active in Pride stuff, is in the process of becoming a _notary_ so she can sign off on people’s name changes and everything, but she doesn’t press Steve to go, which is chill as hell. 

“Yeah, why not?” Steve agrees; he’s really not worried about it, now that he’s come out to his parents and stuff and there’s no risk of somebody outing him. His dad’s still kind of an asshole about it, but his mom’s been shockingly okay with it. “What’s the theme or whatever?”

“It’s planning stuff for Pride Weekend this summer,” she answers as she erases something from Steve’s notes and writes down a little proof thing that makes _ way more sense _ than how the prof has taught it last week. She’s smart as _ fuck_, got accepted into this engineering lab as a freshman and has, like, _ published research _ and everything. The dudes in her program are all assholes, but she’s too much of a badass to give them any attention, so they mostly just grumble about how she’s just there for diversity when she isn’t in the room, apparently.

“Sounds good,” Steve shrugs, and opens up his laptop to figure out what he missed in class earlier while he was talking--writing notes--_whatever _ with Billy.

<hr>

There’s a bunch of frat guys at the Pride meeting for some reason, and Julien has to explain ground rules and safe space shit and how to use neo-pronouns for like _ fifteen minutes _ before the meeting can actually start. _ Billy’s _ there, which _ fucks Steve’s world up _ a little bit. He sprawls in the seat next to Steve once he has on his little nametag, BILLY, HE/HIM/HIS, sits six inches closer than he needs to and throws his arm over the back of Steve’s chair like he owns the fucking place. 

“What are you _ doing _ here?” Steve whispers while Barb and some girl with a half-shaved head argue about themes for their float. 

“The university’s making us do this Safe Zone thing, had every frat pick a guy to be a liaison so if there’s some gay kid in the frat they have somebody to talk to about shit,” Billy murmurs back, leaning in close enough that Steve feels Billy’s breath hot on his neck. He fights off a shiver, still a little suspicious about Billy’s motivations.

“So you were the unlucky pick, then?” Steve asks, and Billy gives him this wounded look before he leans back in. 

“What the __fuck, I _ volunteered,_ I mean, I came out right after initiation last year, didn’t you know that? All the guys already know I’m the one to talk to about how to ask your girl to stick a finger in your ass during a blowjob or what it means when you can’t stop thinking about making out with the twink in your English lecture.” 

So, Billy’s saying gross shit like he usually does, but here’s the thing that Steve can’t get over: Billy came out. Billy _ came out _ , which means he’s _ not straight_, probably. Billy _ came out _ and--and maybe Steve has a fucking _ chance_. 

“I didn’t know you were--_not straight,_” he manages to say once his spirit returns to his body. “Like, I would have put _ money _ on you being the straightest dude in the room.”

“Nah, I like whoever, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. A smokeshow’s hot no matter how they identify, at the end of the day.” _ God_, Billy’s so fucking _ gross_, but Steve’s been a little fucked up about Billy for, like, _ two years _ at this point, and that plus the fact that Billy manages to be disgusting _and_ respectful of people’s sexual and gender identities at the same time, _ plus _ knowing that he might actually have a chance with Billy? It’s all just _ fucking him up_.

“Huh,” Steve says, settles more comfortably into his chair and, by extension, Billy’s outstretched arm. Billy slouches in his chair, manspreads even _ more _ while he listens to the tail end of Barb and Eliza arguing. 

“We can probably get the KD girls to help decorate the float if y’all want,” Billy offers offhand, throwing the argument out of track for a second. 

“There’s a bunch of girls who are bi and lesbian and shit in their leadership this year, they’d love the community service hours and they probably have, like, most of the supplies already. You’ll have to deal with the weird _sorority font_ thing, but as long as you can do that, it’s pretty chill.” Barb and Eliza both look at him like he’s grown a second head and Steve’s worried they’re gonna go off on Billy for _ generalizing sexual orientations _ or _ outing others without their consent _ or something, but Julien intervenes, nods their head at the idea. Eli drops a better idea for a float theme than Barb’s or Eliza’s, face all innocent like he wasn’t just waiting for a break in their little tiff. 

The rest of the meeting is, like, _ way chill_, especially since Julien works at the on-campus coffeeshop and they always bring the day-old cookies as a snack for everybody. Steve goes to snag a few while Billy’s giving Barb the KD art chair’s contact info, and when he gets back Billy steals half of his snickerdoodle. He doesn’t fuck with the cranberry-pecan one, though, so Steve isn’t _t__oo _annoyed, plus Billy gives off enough body heat that Steve isn’t cold, even though it’s always, like, fifty-five degrees in their meeting room for no good fucking reason.

<hr>

He and Barb are at the smoke spot arguing about whether to get McDonald’s or Domino’s for late dinner and hitting Barb’s vape pen when she brings up Billy. She’s perceptive, and Steve’s honestly been waiting for her to say something about it since she’d given him this calculating little _ look _ when she’d noticed him and Billy at the meeting earlier. 

“So, like, I’m _ not _ eating UberEats McDonald’s, end of story. The fries always get cold before they deliver and I am _ too good _ to eat cold Mickey D’s fries, but that’s not what we need to talk about, _is__ it, _ Steve?” Barb says, biting her lip to hide her crooked bottom teeth when she smiles like she always does when she’s stoned as hell. 

“Uhh, what do you mean?” Steve asks, trying to play dumb. He’s not a great liar when he’s stone cold sober, and when he’s high he tends to giggle halfway through any lie he tries to tell. 

“_ God_, you’re a shit liar,” Barb says fondly, smiling wide. “Gimme your phone, I’ll order everybody’s usual and we can just nuke Nancy and Jonathan’s stuff when they get to your dorm later.” She makes grabby hands for his phone and when he hands it over, she starts fucking around on the Domino’s app, short acrylics making that clicking sound he loves in ASMR videos. 

“But, for real, what’s going on with Billy? Don’t think I didn’t see the two of you all _ cozied up _ at the meeting.” She isn’t even looking up from his phone, still tap-tap-tapping away, and it’s so stressful-funny that Steve breaks into anxious, stoned giggles. 

“_Nothing,_” he chokes out eventually. “Like, he might not be straight but he’s _ definitely _ not into me, like, he’s so out of my league it isn’t even _ funny_.”

“Mmm,” Barb hums with one final click. “Okay, pizza should be at your dorm in forty-five.” She looks up at him with those sharp eyes, adds, “He was all up in your shit, for somebody who _ isn’t interested_. Is _ he _ the one who gave you the wristband?”

“He’s always up in _ everybody’s _ shit, and yeah, but it was just, like, a favor, nothing _ serious _ or whatever you’re trying to imply,” Steve rationalizes, realizes he’s got a _ terrible _ case of cottonmouth. “C’mon, I want one of those weird orange vanilla cokes and a giant bag of sour patch kids from the convenience store on campus, I gotta use up all those extra meal plan dollars before the end of the semester.”

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about your big gay crush on another fucking _ frat boy_, let me know, I’m here for you,” Barb says, holding a branch out of the way so Steve doesn’t whack himself in the face on the way back to the sidewalk like he usually does when he’s stoned. 

“Oh my _ god_, it’s not like I’ve had crushes on _ that many _ frat boys,” Steve tries to defend himself, but Barb just rolls her eyes.

“Remember this winter when you got, like _ really _ into the club hockey team because you figured out hockey players are just frat guys who are more muscle-y than usual?” Barb says, and Steve hip-checks her off the sidewalk, lengthens his stride so it’s harder for her to catch up. 

“Fuck you too, then, see if I buy you your munchies snacks now,” Barb calls from the middle of the street, and Steve stops to wait for her to catch up, ignores her cackling laugh. “You wanna watch _ Blue Planet _ or _ But I’m A Cheerleader _ when we get back to your room?” 

“God, _ neither_. Uh, _ Bob’s Burgers? _ ” he offers instead, and she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head no. “_Big Mouth? _” 

“That’ll work,” Barb agrees after a minute or two of deliberation. “Also, like, not to be a creep or anything but you know this whole Row Week thing gives you, like, _ the perfect _ opportunity to hop on Billy’s dick, right?” Steve blushes, makes a strangled noise, and Barb laughs her head off like a fucking _ asshole_. 

<hr>

Steve is _ freaking out _ on Friday afternoon when Barb comes over. Every item of clothing he’s ever _ owned _ is thrown on his floor and he has _ nothing _ to wear and Billy’s gonna make fun of him and it’ll be a goddamn nightmare.

Last Sunday, Steve’s phone had buzzed with a text from an unknown number. _ steve it’s BILly, I’m already fuked UP and it’s only Sudnay, take God notes for me in calss_, _owe u 1_. Steve had actually, like _ blushed_, alone in his room that’s _ supposed _ to be a double, but his roommate had dropped out two weeks into fall semester and they haven’t given him a new one yet. 

_ Hydrate or die-drate_, he’d texted back, and then because that was the _ stupidest _ text he’s ever sent, _ Yeah I’ll color-code them and everything. _

At like noon today, Billy had texted again, remarkably free of typos, _ be here at six-thirty, look (fire emoji), bring the weed, tell them ur with me at the front gate_. Steve’d texted back a few shaka emojis, trying to convey a level of chill he’s literally never felt in his _ life_.

“Okay, what the fuck is _ wrong_, you drama king, I had to cut my meeting with the KD girl short and she was cute as _ hell_,” Barb says as she pulls his door open. 

“Sorry to cockblock you,” Steve snipes back, a little mean because he’s stressed. “I have to be dressed all _ jungle fever _ or whatever for tonight and I don’t have anything to _ wear_.”

“Oh my _ god_,” Barb says, throwing her backpack onto the spare bed he uses as a couch. “Like, out of all of us I though _ I _ was supposed to be the big gay disaster, take a fucking _ chill pill _ and sit down while I figure this out.” 

She starts picking up his clothes, discarding everything into piles. “You _ really _ don’t have a _ single _ cool-toned floral short sleeve button-down?” Steve can’t help himself; he lets out a half-wail that even _ he _ can tell is overdramatic. 

“_Jesus_, you’re a mess,” Barb sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Luckily for you, we’re gonna have some bi-lesbian solidarity in the club tonight, I have a couple buttondowns I can pass along.” She goes searching in her bag, pulls out her phone.

“Hey, Nance, before you and Jonny-boy go to that weird play or whatever you’re doing, will you bring by those buttondowns you’re making me get rid of? Steve needs them, he’s having a _ fashion emergency_.” Steve can hear Nancy laughing through the phone, even from across the room, but Barb just waits her out, gets the confirmation and says _ love you, bye _ before she hangs up.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya,” Barb says, throwing herself down on the bed next to Steve. “It’ll be like half an hour. You still have any of those sour patch kids? I wanna have my _ own _ big gay freakout about this KD girl while we’re waiting, holy _ shit _ she’s so cute and cool as _ fuck_.” Steve waves his hand at the extra dresser he uses as his pantry, and Barb rummages around in the drawers for a second before she gives a triumphant cry and comes out with the candy in hand.

“I’m surprised a big ol’ lesbian like _ you _ is into srat girls,” Steve teases gently, and Barb pinches the thin skin behind his knee in retaliation.

“She’s not, like, a _ regular _srat girl,” Barb starts, eyes going all dreamy, and then she realizes what she’s said.

“She’s a _ cool _ srat girl,” Steve misquotes at her, and she laughs, waves him off. 

“Fuck _ off_, her name is Robin and she’s a graphic design major and she’s, like, a little bit alt or whatever, she was wearing those cute nineties-style Doc Marten platform sandals and she has a bisexual bob. _ Ugh _ I was _ such _ a tender gay like, the whole time, like, I wanna take her thrift shopping and buy her boba, _ fuck _ she’s so cool and cute and _ aghhh_.” Barb with a crush is funny as hell, as overdramatic about her love life as she is underdramatic about how fuckin’ _ smart _ she is. 

“Why’s she in a sorority then, if she’s _ so cool? _” Steve asks, needling her, and she smacks his knee, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough for Steve to react all dramatic. 

“Her mom’s a legacy KD who wanted Robin to be, like, her mini-me or whatever, major in business and marry some boring dude and wait for him to die or whatever. Robin wanted to major in graphic design, obvi, and so she low-key manipulated her mom into this agreement that if she rushed she could major in whatever she wanted, and apparently the KD girls are, like, surprisingly cool about everything.” They shoot the shit about the Pride planning stuff and Barb's new _crush_. After a while, Barb tries to give him the safer sex talk like he hasn't heard it a million times, throws a couple packets of lube and a dental dam at him.

She directs him forcefully into a pair of khaki shorts that are a little shorter than what he usually wears and his all white Sk8-His and when Nancy comes in all dolled up for her and Jonathan’s date, they argue for a while about what ugly floral-print shirt he should wear for, like, _ ten minutes_. Once they finally decide, no input from him required, Barb lets him hit her vape and blow the smoke out the window. She coaxes him into wearing the shirt unbuttoned, says he’s all _ toned _ from the swimming class he takes at the rec center on Tuesdays and Thursdays and he should _ show it off _ if he wants Billy to _ notice him_. They have to take a brief break when Barb gets a text from Robin asking if she wants to _ hang out _ at some artsy party later and she nearly has a conniption, but by the time six-fifteen rolls around and Steve has to leave for the TKE house, he’s got a decent outfit, a pocket full of the good kush Jonathan gets from his hippie friends who’re financing their art degrees with a grow room in their basement, and a good ass feeling about how the night’s gonna go. 

<hr>

The pledge stationed at the fence’s gate is really fucking suspicious when Steve says he’s there to see Billy, but after he checks to make sure Steve’s wristband is the real deal, he uses a _ walkie talkie _ to ask the guy who’s in the _ party room _ if Billy has a guest coming in for the pregame, as if he couldn’t just text Billy and confirm it directly. 

“He’s good, let him in, over,” the guy in the party room says over the crackling connection, and the guy lets Steve in. He doesn’t check Steve’s ID, either, not that it would really fucking matter, since nobody's gonna give a shit once he's inside the fence. The TKE house has this dramatic, ugly-ass walkway up to the house, all fake-colonial like Jonathan loves to rant about when he’s drunk. 

He’s been in the TKE house once before, when he was a freshman and he was thinking about rushing, to please his dad if nothing else, but he doesn’t remember much; they’d shepherded him through all the rooms like he needed a chaperone on his house tour, didn’t share any nips of Smirnoff or anything to make it memorable. All the doors are closed and have caution tape in an X over the doorways, but there are almost-legible signs that read PARTY ROOM that point up the stairs, and he follows the sound of people and a bunch of shitty rap music. 

“HEYYYY,” the room yells when he walks in. Once they’ve greeted him, mostly everybody goes back to their beer pong or their conversations without giving him a second glance. Billy comes jogging over from the other side of this _ giant _ kitchen-living room hybrid, carrying a red Solo cup. He’s wearing these _ tiny _ palm-tree-printed Chubbies, a stupid fucking tan bucket hat, that gold chain and pendant Steve’s never seen him without, and nothing else; Steve’s mouth waters, looking at him.

“Hey, Harrington,’ he says, stumbles over his words just a little bit. “Nice job on the ‘fit, even if it needs a little something...here, this’ll work.” He pulls the hat off his own head, plops it on top of Steve’s head a little harder than he needs to. Even though Steve can _ feel _ that Billy’s been sweating in it (which, his logical mind says, is fucking _ gross _ ), Billy’s hair looks fucking _ great _ as usual.

“Lemme get you a drink, you want vodka or whiskey or tequila?” Billy grabs his wrist, pulls him along towards the countertop where there’s a _ full fucking bar_, the nicer shit, too, Tito’s instead of Burnett’s and Jack Daniels instead of Rich and Rare. 

“Uh, tequila,” Steve says after a minute; vodka makes him all weepy sometimes and he can’t fucking _ stand _ brown liquor. 

“Oh, _ shit_, the princess is here to _ party_,” Billy crows, triumphant, and starts pouring tequila into an empty cup, counting under his breath. After _ eight mississippi_, he stops pouring and looks over at Steve. “You want shitty marg mix or--I mean, _ I _like palomas, can I make you a paloma?” Billy sounds more earnest than he ever has in Steve’s earshot, and when Steve agrees, Billy plops in a couple ice cubes and pours grapefruit soda over the top, passes it to Steve. 

“C’mere, you’ve got the good shit’n I don’ wanna share,” Billy stage whispers with a dramatic little pout, pulling Steve down the long hallway by the loose edge of his buttondown. He stops at one of the doors, knocks a couple times and then turns the knob. 

“Sorry, my roommate was in here with his bitch earlier, didn’ wanna walk in on em,” Billy explains, sloshing a little of whatever he’s drinking as he sits down hard on his desk chair. “He’s _ really fucking bad _ at the whole sock on the door thing, he’s prolly got some voyeurism kink or some shit.”

“Who knows?” Steve says neutrally, swigs a little of his drink. It’s strong as fuck, but it doesn’t burn as bad as the cheap shit does, and he does like the grapefruit soda thing. 

“You excited for tonight? This whole fuckin’ _ week _ has been fuckin _ nuts_, like, I haven’t really been sober since like, last Thursday, the party at Fiji last night was _ such _ a fuckin’ rager, holy _ shit_.” Billy’s all excited, flinging his hands around and bouncing in his seat, _ way _ more animated than Steve’s seen him since the time they ate half a tray of space brownies over Christmas Break and watched _ Adventure Time! _straight through. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be _ sick_,” Steve agrees, starting to feel the tequila. “You, uh, got a bowl we can load or something?” Billy nods, rummages through his desk drawer with his free hand until he comes up with a fancy-looking pipe, celebrates the find with a wordless little yell. 

“Oh, shit, jus’, uh, shove my blankets over and sit, Harrington,” Billy says when he notices Steve's still standing there awkwardly, gestures to his bed. “You want my grinder, too?” Steve perches on Billy’s bed, nods in response to Billy’s question. Billy’s bed is comfortable as hell, full of what looks like homemade quilts and super-soft sheets, and he fidgets a little, getting settled. 

“Got it,” Billy says after he messes around in his drawer for a second. He stands up from his chair, plops down on the bed so close to Steve that their thighs are touching a little. 

“Want me to hold your drink?” Billy asks, hand reaching for it; he wrinkles his face up like he’s disappointed when he sees how full the cup still is. “Oh, shit, you gotta _ drink _ some more, baby, get on my _ level_.” He takes the cup from Steve’s hand, holds it up to his mouth, and Steve basically chugs half the fucking drink trying to keep Billy from spilling it all over him. The warmth in the pit of his stomach’s from so much tequila all at once, he tries to tell himself, not because Billy called him _ baby_. 

Steve loads the grinder and then the bowl, makes encouraging noises as Billy describes all the week’s parties and how he had to boot and rally in the Lambda Chi parking lot last Friday and all the hot people he’s hooked up with this week, apparently. 

“But, like, nothing more than oral, and with a condom or some saran wrap or whatever,” Billy’s saying when Steve’s finally satisfied with the bowl. Steve pantomimes sparking a lighter and Billy pulls one out of nowhere. “And, like, never if they weren’t, like, super enthusiastic and about as able to consent as I was, like, I can’t fucking _ stand _ the SAEs and the Sigma Nus, always trying to creep on super drunk girls.” 

“You want greenies?” Steve asks when Billy stops to take a breath, holding up the lighter and the bowl.

“Nah, you got it,” Billy says, dismissing the idea with a lazy wave. “You know, TKE’s, like, one of the only fuckin’ frats on this campus that isn’t skeevy to girls, like, apparently at SAE it’s, like, _ impossible _ for a girl to get a fucking beer, they only serve ‘em jungle juice or straight liquor, it’s _ so _ shitty.” Steve sparks up the bowl, glances at Billy to see if he needs to blow the smoke out the window or something. Billy isn’t paying attention, though, so Steve just blows the smoke upwards; there’s no fucking fire alarm in here, anyways, it’s probably fine. 

“That’s _ so _ fucked up,” Steve says, the weed and the tequila making him more honest than he would be, as he takes back his cup and hands over the lighter and the bowl. “I’m glad your guys aren’t like that, though.”

“Yeah, my guys’re almost all good, I mean, when I came out I was half-afraid somebody was gonna kick my fuckin’ ass, but they were almost all pretty chill about it, and our president’s the one who pushed for all of the frats to have that gay ambassador or whatever.” Billy wedges his cup between his thigh and his calf to keep it from spilling, lights the bowl, corners it all pretty, and Steve can’t help but watch him as he hollows his cheeks, getting a good draw. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Billy drawls when he catches Steve looking, smoke streaming out of his mouth. “Oh, _ shit_, watch, I just learned how to do _such _ fuckin’ nice smoke rings.” He demonstrates, lips pursed open and tongue pink in his mouth, and Steve _ does _ see something he likes, has to shift around on the bed to hide where he’s chubbing up. 

“Nice,” Steve says when Billy hands back the pipe. “Watch this,” he adds, and does one of the stupidly long french exhales some girl at one of Jonathan’s trippy art student parties taught him to do. 

“_Fuck_, very impressive,” Billy says all approving, and, “Hey, wanna shotgun me?” Like, it’s juvenile as hell, shotgunning weed is, like, the most _ obvious _ excuse to almost-kiss somebody, but Steve like to shotgun, likes feeling close and breathing in each other’s breath or whatever, it’s _ so _ stupid but he _ loves it_, so he nods, takes a massive hit, leans in and puts his free hand on the juncture of Billy’s shoulder and neck to stabilize himself. 

He opens his mouth, and Billy’s lips part as he leans in, too, breathes in as Steve breathes out, and there’s just, like, the _ faintest _ brush of lips and Steve’s pretty sure he could _ explode _ with all this sexual tension and he’s just as sure that one of them’s gonna break, gonna lean in for a real kiss instead of sharing this stale hit between them, when all of a sudden somebody’s banging on the door, hard, yelling something unintelligible. 

“Oh, _ shit, _ that was the party chair,” Billy says, opening his eyes (_so _ fucking blue, pupils dilated and eyes a little glossy with weed and liquor). “We all do this thing where we shotgun a beer together before our parties start, to, like, celebrate brotherhood or whatever, and then we’re gonna have to go down to the lawn if we’re gonna get close to the stage, they’re prolly gonna open the gate to everybody else soon.” He retrieves his cup from his lap, chugs whatever was left in it and stands, holds a hand out to Steve like he might need a hand up. Steve does a little bit, but only because he's too busy watching Billy's tongue dart out to get the last drops of his drink off the corner of his mouth.

“You better finish yours,” Billy advises, gesturing to Steve’s mostly-empty cup. “So’s I can make you a new one, the only stuff we’ve got outside is shit beer and jungle juice and _you_ need to catch up still.” Steve sets down the pipe, finishes his drink, and takes Billy’s hand, lets him pull Steve up and into his personal space. He drops Billy's lighter (which is white, of _ course_, what a fuckin’ _ cliche _ Billy is) into one of his pockets for safekeeping. 

“Les’ go,” Billy says, and when he opens his bedroom door, there’s more music pounding through the house, probably through the speakers he saw outside on his way in, that crazy hot Rihanna song that makes girls lose their _ shit _ at parties, _ sex with me so amazing, all this hard work, no vacation_, and Billy wiggles his hips a little with the beat as he leads Steve down the corridor, still holding Steve’s hand. No one’s paying enough attention to Steve to see him eyeing Billy’s ass, all high and round under his shorts.

There’s about five times as many people in the living area than there were when he and Billy went to go smoke, all the brothers holding cans of Bud Light and keys in a clump in the middle of the room and everybody else huddled at the edges of the room, watching. As soon as this _ huge _ guy who looks so wrecked Steve’s shocked he’s even still _ vertical _ comes into the room, the guys all start to poke jagged holes in the sides of their cans with their keys or whatever. He sees Carol out of the corner of his eye, does that little half-nod that acknowledges somebody without inviting them over, and she waves lazily back, takes a swig from the half-empty bottle of strawberry lemonade svedka in her hand.

“Party chair says THREE...TWO...ONE...GO!” the guy roars, and almost in unison the whole frat chugs their beers. Billy’s, like, the second one done, after the party chair, and he find Steve in the crowd, winks broadly and licks beer foam off his mouth as he looks Steve right in the eye. 

They all do some chant Steve tries not to listen to the words of, and then Billy’s right back at his side, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Billy’s all sweaty, and Steve knows it _ should _ gross him out, but really it’s just kind of _ hot_, the way his cologne mixes with the smells of sweat and beer and weed and Billy still somehow smells _ good_. 

“Okay, princess, lemme make you ‘nother drink and we’ll go scope out a good spot, yeah?” Billy says, plucking Steve’s cup out of his hand and disappearing into the sea of people, headed mostly in the right direction. Steve’s feeling _ good _ now, fucked up on weed and tequila and sexual tension; he’s loose, now, _ chill_, ready to get tossed around in some stupid fucking crowd and hop around in time with Amine and rap along as best he can while he’s all fucked up. Some girl tries to intercept Billy and take Steve's drink, but Billy says hi and smacks a kiss to her cheek without even slowing down, too focused on getting back to Steve. 

That little warm, pleased feeling in his stomach he’d felt when Billy called him _ baby _ earlier is back, seeing how much attention Billy’s focusing on him and him alone; Billy’s got this bright-ass fucking smile on his face as he looks at Steve, a million watts or something, and Steve can’t help but smile back, a little giggly and stupidly content as he takes his drink. 

“C’mon, Harrington, let’s go get a spot,” Billy says, but he just stands there _ looking _ at Steve, and after a few seconds Steve has to be the one to start moving, heading back towards the staircase; Billy loops a few fingers through his belt loop as he follows behind, casually possessive in a way that makes Steve _ want_, and when Steve looks back at him, grinning like an idiot, Billy makes this stupid, drunk-as-hell kissy face and winks all cheesy and Steve’s _ so alive _, looking at Billy’s dumb expression. 

They make it up close enough to see well without being fucking crushed into the barrier or the security guards up at the front once everybody else comes in, and the same shitty fratboy playlist is playing through the speakers outside, Post Malone moaning _ say you flexin’? that’s a big lie_. There’s a huge cheer from beyond the fence, over by where the gate is, and people start to spill in, making beelines for the beer tent or the cookout or the stage. 

“You want some crawdads?” Billy murmurs in Steve’s ear from where he’s pressed up against Steve’s back. “Gotta eat _ somethin’ _ today, huh?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and he holds Billy’s cup and bobs along to the beat of the music and tries not to look like too much of a white boy with no rhythm while he waits for Billy. When he does come back, Billy’s got a plate piled high with bright red crawfish and chunks of potato and corn on the cob, already has a brown-red smear of spice across his cheek that Steve can’t help but reach out and rub away. They sit cross-legged while they eat, quick so they don’t have to fight the crowd as everybody fills in, and it’s _ gross _ watching Billy suck the heads but it’s _ so hot_, too, the way Billy’s throat works and he wrinkles his nose against the tickle of cayenne at the back of his throat in between bites. 

Billy disappears again to throw out their trash, and when he comes back he’s got six vaguely-chilled Busch Lites clutched to his chest.

“Put a couple in your pockets, this way we don’t have to miss any of the show for refills,” Billy says, and he’s goading Steve into finishing his mixed drink when Fetty Wap’s distinctive voice reverberates through the speakers and a shriek of drunken white-girl joy moves through the crowd. _ Baby girl you’re so damn fine though_, Fetty raps along with about 1200 fucked up white kids, and Billy moves with the music, a hell of a lot more graceful than Steve’s ever been even when he's drunk off his _ ass_. Steve just, like, _ watches _ for a second, but Billy reaches out for him, pulls him in to dance. It’s getting _ crowded _ now, girls trying to shove to the front for the best view for their insta stories, and so it makes sense to move in close, to throw his now-empty cup in the general direction of the trashcan and put his hands up and fucking _ move _ to whatever stupid fucking song is playing. They’re both sweating, because it’s almost summer and it’s eighty-five fucking degrees outside even at seven-thirty at night and they’re in a huge crowd of people all putting off body heat, and Steve’s drunk enough now that it doesn’t bother him, the way he’s getting other people’s _ sweat _ on his skin. 

It’s getting darker now, the sun finally setting, and there’s a series of excited shrieks from the crowd as roadies check the stage and the mics and shit. Right before eight, Steve struggles into his pocket, pulls out the lighter he’d stolen from Billy and the big-ass joint he’d rolled before he left the dorm earlier, what seems like a _ lifetime _ ago now. He waggles it between two fingers in Billy’s direction, and Billy audibly _ groans_, makes grabby hands for it. 

Steve’s _ still _ probably not as fucked up as Billy is, all things considered, so he makes the executive decision to get the joint started before he passes it to Billy. Billy takes a huge toke, pulls Steve in close like he’s gonna shotgun Steve again, but instead he just moves close enough that their foreheads are touching and breathes out, an incredible, _ horrible _ tease. They smoke half of it a little too fast, pass it to the superdrunk group of girls next to them so they can finish it off. Two of the girls, both wearing oversized basketball jerseys and not much else, lean over and give Billy and Steve friendly, sloppy kisses in unison.

_ Two bad bitches like I’m Sha-Shabba Ranks, one gold tooth like I’m Sha-Shabba Ranks _ , the crowd is yelling along with A$AP Ferg, and some guy Steve vaguely recognizes from the pregame party thing wades through the crowd to yell in Billy’s direction, _ short -- but my dick tall _ , laughing and making this weirdly intense face like it’s some secret message or some shit. Steve looks at Billy like _ what the fuck? _ and Billy leans in to yell in Steve’s ear over the crowd. 

“It’s a stupid fuckin’ joke, they used to grief me all the fuckin’ time about being short until they heard the girls in my room having a grand ol’ time an’ decided I must have a monster in my pants,” Billy explains, panting a little in the heat, and Steve passes him the beer he’s got in his shirt pocket. Billy smiles wide, presses a kiss to his cheek, and takes the can. It’s closer to hot than lukewarm now, but Billy opens it and takes a swing anyways, passes over a beer from his own back pocket for Steve to drink like they’re _ trading _ or something. 

So Steve knows Billy’s one of those dudes who’s so confident in their masculinity or whatever that he’s touchy-feely with everybody, catches glimpses of him draped over his friends walking across campus and shit all the time, but, like--Steve’s _ not sure _ if Billy’s this affectionate with _ everybody _ when he’s fucked up or if it’s just for Steve. He had felt the spark of _ something _ earlier, when Billy’d leaned in to shotgun him, but Steve doesn’t want to weird Billy out or make him uncomfortable or something by making a real move, now. 

Frat guys especially tend to have that weird, shitty response to queer guys, that whole _ good for you, just make sure you don’t hit on me, _thing that he can’t fucking stand. If Steve goes in for something and Billy’s weird about it, Steve would--well, it would be bad, whatever he would do. Instead of curling into Billy’s space even further, he forces himself to turn back toward the stage even though there’s still nobody on it. Billy’s still close enough for Steve to feel his body heat, even through his clothes, but it feels safer, somehow, now that he’s not looking at Billy’s wide, stoned smile. Steve drinks another beer at some point, trying to keep up with Billy.

Even though Amine was _ supposed _ to go on at eight, the crowd doesn’t seem to mind as the time ticks closer to nine, girls grinding on each other and whatever guy’s the closest and least repellent and guys jumping up and down, rapping along with the music like they’ve ever even been inside a trap house. After a while, Steve pulls another Busch out of his pocket, turns around to waggle his eyebrows at Billy like _ you in? _ Billy grins like he’s some apex predator trying to show all his teeth, stops Steve before he can pop the top on his beer. 

“Give it here,” Billy yells over Waka Flocka Flame, and when Steve hands it over, Billy uses his keys to pop a hole in the side of it. Steve resigns himself to shotgunning while he wonders exactly where the _ fuck _ Billy has a place to _ put _ any goddamn keys in shorts that small. Billy hands him back the beer once he’s shoved his thumb inside the hole to widen it, and he’s clearly bent the sharp edges inwards all careful, like he _ cares _ if Steve cuts his mouth while he’s chugging disgustingly warm beer. It’s _ gross _ , sure, given that Steve has _ no idea _ when Billy last washed his hands, but it’s also kinda sweet. Billy opens his own the same way, doesn't really bother with fixing the edges, cunts down from three with a wicked smile.

While Steve’s trying to forget how to breathe so he can drink as fast as possible, that stupid song about the guy from _ Wolf of Wall Street _ that’s every frat guy in the _ world_’s anthem comes on, _ I been gettin’ dirty money, Jordan Belfort_. It gets a huge cheer from the crowd, and Billy elbows Steve and points out some guy who must have just caught the tail end of their shotgunning on one of those fancy cameras Youtubers use for vlogging. 

“Joseph’s getting on the ground footage and one of his buddies is getting everything from above with a fuckin’ _ drone_, ‘s gonna be the best promo vid _ ever _ for next year,” Billy yells, hand low on Steve’s lower back. 

There’s a little bit of chaos in the crowd, and Steve turns around just in time to see the stage lights go black, and then suddenly the stage flares sunbright and Amine’s on stage and the crowd is _ roaring_, loud enough that Steve can hardly hear the intro to _ Spice Girl_. Whoever’s running sound must bump up the volume, though, because after a second Steve can hear a whole lot fucking better. 

Everybody shoves even closer to the stage like there’s any free room in front for them to squeeze into, and Billy’s crushed up against Steve’s back for a second before Steve can adjust to the movement of the crowd; Billy grabs onto Steve’s hip with his free hand to steady himself, and even when Steve moves up a little so they’re not quite so on top of each other, Billy’s hand _ doesn’t fucking move_, fingers burning a brand into Steve’s skin where his shirt’s rucked up. He feels like he’s going to wake up tomorrow with _ marks _ from the sheer heat of Billy’s hand; he kind of hopes he does, even though it's impossible.

Amine’s fucking _ great_, all energy and enthusiasm, and Steve’s pretty fucked up but he’s also, like, happier than he feels like he’s been in _ months_, crossfaded with his favorite rapper like thirty feet away and a couple thousand people shoved in around him like sardines and Billy’s hand curled around his side almost to his stomach, keeping Steve close like he would ever even _ think _ about trying to get away from Billy. The stupid fucking bucket hat is making his head sweat and he spent a lot of goddamn time on his hair, which is kind of annoying, but Steve still feels like this is a perfect night anyways. 

Whatever fuckin’ strain Jonathan’s friends are growing is _ intense_, especially mixed with all the alcohol he’s had tonight and the loud music and the crowd all having a great fucking time; it makes every brush of skin on skin sparkle with pleasure, even when it’s just the dude trying to creep on the gaggle of drunk girls next to them elbowing Steve in the side by accident. Billy’s breath blowing hot over his neck as he sings along makes Steve shiver _ hard _ when he thinks about it for half a second, and Billy rubs his hand up and down Steve’s side absentmindedly like he’s trying to _ warm Steve up _ or something. Steve can’t help but squirm a little at the feeling, and Billy puts the hand he’d just had in the air on Steve’s other hip, steadies him like he’s worried Steve’s gonna fall or something. _ REEL IT IN _ ends and Amine stops to chug a water bottle while his DJ mixes something Steve’s pretty sure is the back track for _ Veggies_. 

“Aight, so if you got somebody you’re hot for in the crowd, like, now’s the time to find ‘em, y’all,” Amine says into the mic, and he goes into _ Heebiejeebies_. Half the crowd goes wild, like, enough fuckin’ people know this song that it’s _ almost _ a little lame now, but it’s still sexy as _ fuck_. The syrupy beat goes through his veins along with a jolt of arousal, slows his movements so he’s almost grinding back on Billy. Billy moves in even fucking _ closer_, and Steve feels Billy’s smile, teeth and all, pressed to his neck. 

“Careful, princess,” Billy murmurs, and then he’s singing along with Amine in a voice _ wrecked _ from raging all day and night for the past week, _ you, you’ve got so much potential, every moment spent with you I bet was always eventful, I’ve never seen your type’a species, gimme heebiejeebies _ with his face still buried in Steve’s neck and Steve can’t _ take it _ anymore, like, there’s _ no fucking way _ Billy isn’t trying to, like, _ seduce him_, or do whatever the frat boy equivalent of seducing is. 

Billy worms a hand into Steve’s front pocket long enough to pull out their last beer, and his arms trap Steve for a second while he pops the top. Steve’s overwhelmed by his closeness and his fucking _ smell_, which should be _ gross _ by now given how much the both of them are sweating, but honestly just makes Steve want to burrow in close or something else fuckin’ stupid. One of Billy’s arms disappears from around Steve while he drinks half the beer in one go, and then Billy puts the can in front of his face, holds it while Steve finishes it off. 

He’s got warm beer running down his neck, which is _ gross_, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind how goddamn sweaty Steve is when he _ licks it off. _Steve _ actually _ might just, like, spontaneously combust, like, he feels like a star going _ supernova _ or something. Billy’s other hand is back on his hip, and Steve has to stop himself from doing something overdramatic like throwing his head back. He does grind back a little harder, more confident now that he knows what Billy’s trying to do, and Billy’s fingers tighten almost painfully over his hipbones. Steve kind of hopes that he’s gonna wake up tomorrow with little finger-shaped smudges bruised into his skin; Billy’s panting into the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder now, not even _ pretending _ to pay attention to the concert. 

“_Baby,_” he whines just loud enough for Steve to hear, “Be _ nice_, don’t embarrass me in front of everybody, _ fuck_, somebody’s gonna notice how fuckin’ turned on I am.” Steve puts his hand over Billy’s, rubs his thumb over Billy’s skin in little circles to soothe him or something. 

He’s almost tempted to drag Billy back into the frat house right now, find some deserted corner to get them both off in, but, like, it’s _ Amine_, so he can be patient. It’s not like Billy’s _ going anywhere_. 

After another half an hour or so of burning closeness and loud fucking music, Amine plays _ Caroline _ and thanks the crowd, heads offstage to another massive cheer. The frat boy playlist from earlier starts back up, or maybe it’s the DJ, but Steve doesn’t really give a shit, not when Billy’s pulling him through the crowd, bodychecking people out of his way like something’s on _ fire_. They don’t really talk on the way back up to Billy’s room, not even when they take a detour so they can both pee in the _ super nice _ bathroom; after, Billy bangs on his bedroom door twice, harder than he probably needs to, and barges in before he can get any response.

“Fuck, lemme text Brian and tell him to fuck off to somewhere else tonight,” Billy says, already holding his phone. Steve notices then, for the first time all night, that his phone’s been in here since they left to go start the party proper. He checks his notifications by reflex, sees that Barb’s texted him GO GET ‘EM, TIGER and a stupid gif of the lion from _ Steven Universe _ like an _ asshole_. The _ second _ Billy throws his phone down on his desk, he’s all up in Steve’s space again, doing that apex predator shit that Steve fucking _ loves_. 

“Wanna make out?” he asks, suddenly serious, and adds like he's reciting a lecture he's heard a million times, “Consent is important.” He’s got these big fucking doe eyes Steve gets _ lost in _ for a second, like this is some fucking _ romance novel _ or some shit, but then his brain processes what Billy’s actually _ said _ and he leans in to press his mouth to Billy’s. 

Their first kiss is kinda shitty, if he were looking at it with an unbiased eye; they both taste like crawfish boil and shit beer, and Billy surges forward and their teeth bang together pretty hard. Billy pulls back with a grunt of pain, pushes Steve gently so he sits down on the bed, climbs on Steve’s lap with a surprising amount of coordination. Steve puts a hand on Billy’s hip automatically, just so he’s steady and doesn’t fall or anything, and Billy wriggles a little like he’s testing Steve’s hold, smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, and pulls Steve in for a kiss with a hand at the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve nips at Billy’s lower lip and Billy groans, pulls back just enough for Steve to see how dilated his pupils are, how _ wrecked _ he looks, and starts babbling.

“Okay, _ fuck_, I wanna make you cum _ so bad _ right now but I’m pretty fucked up and you are too and I don’t wanna forget this or be bad at it or anything, so, like, make out with me for a while and stay here tonight and tomorrow morning when we get up we can go to Waffle House for hangover breakfast and afterwards I’ll give you the best blowie you’ve ever had, sound like a plan?” It takes a second to parse what the _ fuck _ Billy’s even asking, but once he does, he’s, like, _ embarrassingly _ into it. 

“Fuck, _ yeah, _ that sounds good, B,” Steve says, and means it; he doesn’t want to be some drunken one night stand for Billy, something that Billy forgets or, worse, _ regrets_. “Wanna finish that bowl first?” He gestures to the half-smoked bowl that’s still on Billy’s desk, and Billy picks up the pipe, stands up to look around for a lighter. Steve pulls the lighter from his pocket a little sheepishly, and Billy gives him a look like _ don’t steal my lighter, asshole_, sparks up. He leans in to _ actually _ shotgun Steve this time, presses a firm, sweet kiss to Steve’s mouth and breathes out steady and slow. There’s a tickle in his throat like he could cough, but he doesn’t, just breathes out through his nose and focuses on kissing Billy stupid. 

Billy crawls back into his lap, still holding the bowl. He holds it up to Steve’s mouth, nearly burns Steve’s hair when he tries to spark the lighter. Steve pulls away a little, and Billy takes the hat off Steve’s head, pushes Steve’s hair back and tries again. Steve’s got his hands on Billy’s thighs, anchoring him and Steve takes a pull big enough to cash the bowl, leans in to pass the smoke to Billy when he’s ready to exhale. 

“_Fuck_, this is _ so much better _ than I imagined it,” Billy says when he pulls away from their kiss to gasp for breath. 

“You’ve been thinking about it?” Steve blurts out, and blushes a little; he’d meant to sound all confident and shit, like he _ knows _ Billy’s been hot for him or whatever.

“Are you _ kidding? _ ” Billy asks, leaning back to Steve can see the exaggerated shock on his face. “I’ve been into you since, like, the first time we hotboxed my car, like, since _ last year_, Harrington.”

“Ugh,” Steve complains, wrinkling his nose, “Don’t call me _ Harrington _ when you’re on my lap, ‘s weird.”

“You wan’ me to call you _baby_ instead? ” Billy asks, lets his voice drop all gravelly and hot. “Or maybe you like _ princess _ better, huh?” _ God_, Billy doesn’t play nice, although Steve isn’t really surprised to figure that out; he likes the way Billy leers out _ princess _ like it’s something unspeakably dirty, likes that it doesn’t sound _ mean _ the way it could. 

“_Fuck_,” Steve sighs, dropping his head to Billy’s shoulder. “You’re, like, too hot to be a real person, you know that?” Billy laughs that stupid fuckboy chuckle that gets Steve hot under the collar and pisses him off in equal measure, grinds on Steve’s lap dirty enough that Steve can feel Billy’s erection rub against his stomach, groans low and long at the feeling. Steve presses kisses to the sweat-sticky skin of Billy’s neck, pulls Billy closer with a hand on his ass. 

Billy pushes Steve onto his back, gentle even through the haze of being crossfaded, and squirms around, making himself comfortable, before he presses his mouth to Steve’s neck, drags his teeth against Steve’s skin to make him full-body shiver. The song playing outside changes, and Billy breaks away, looking at Steve like he’s a cool glass of water on a hot summer day, as he hums along with Young M.A, _ yeah, they hate but they broke though, and when it’s time to pop they a no-show, yeah I’m pretty but I’m loco_. He’s moving with the music like he isn’t even aware of it, rocking his hips and bobbing his head, and Steve wants to get his hand in Billy’s stupid little shorts and get him off more than he’s ever wanted anything in his whole fucking _ life_. 

“B, baby, we gotta stop if we’re gonna wait ‘til tomorrow, _ shit_,” he manages to say through his cottonmouth and his arousal, and Billy snaps back to himself, makes a grumpy little face but climbs off Steve anyways. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Billy says, clearly a little sexually frustrated. “I’m gonna go get some water, my mouth is like a fuckin’ _ desert_, cottonmouth is such a bitch. You want some, too?” Steve nods and Billy leaves the room. While he’s alone, he figures he should let Nancy and Barb know he’s not gonna be at their usual brunch spot tomorrow, rummages in the blankets for wherever the fuck he dropped his phone. 

_ Won’t be at Julia’s for brunch tomorrow morning, drink a beermosa for me _, he texts the groupchat, and his phone buzzes almost instantly. 

Barb:

_ Okay fucker, spill. _

_ Did you get some or no?????? _

Nance:

_ Inquiring minds want to know, Steve!! _

_ I’m approximately eight MILLION times more interested in this than that stupid play Jonathan took me to _

_ The cast party was (fire emoji) though _

Barb: 

_ Not that I’m not INCREDIBLY interested in what you guys did at the cast party, you know I love/hate theater kid shit, but YOU can tell me tomorrow at brunch_

_Steve, fuckin GIVE US THE DEETS BOI _

_ Oh btw I might bring Robin to brunch tomorrow, it’s chill, she's great_

Steve huffs out a laugh, texts back _ u-haul much there, Beezy? _ and ignores the pissy gifs Barb texts back while he composes his response to her question. 

Barb:

_ Fuck ALL THE WAY OFF, Steven Middle Name Harrington, I WANT THE DEETS OR ELSE _

Nancy:

_ His middle name’s Michael _

_ But for real Steve I’ll kick your ass if you bail on brunch AND don’t give us the lowdown, you KNOW I’m a Gemini Moon and I live for other people's drama._

Steve:

_ I’m staying at the frat house 2night (ew) and we’re getting Waffle House in the morning _

Barb:

_ Awful House? GROSS (puke emoji) _

_ You’re worth IHOP at LEAST, Steve, don’t settle for less for some boy!!!!! _

_ Did u get some already, then??? _

Steve:

_ it’s not my fault if you can’t acknowledge that Waffle House is clearly the superior shitty breakfast place, Beezy _

_ Billy’s not just some boy, either, u know i’ve been into him for, like, YEARS _

Nancy:

_ Yes, we’ve all seen your Big Gay Freakouts™ every semester when he shows up in one of your classes. _

Steve:

_ and we’re waiting bcuz Billy has this thing about not hooking up with drunk ppl even when he’s fucked up too_

_ not that I owe u 2 any deets, you harlots _

_ I kno Barb told u Billy was (a) pan or w/e and (b) going to that Pride mtg, Nancy, and neither of u told me, you assholes!! _

Barb:

_ Quit being such a titty baby _

_ Babycrying,gif _

Nancy:

_ Oh, I like him a little more now if he’s waiting till you’re READY, v cute _

_ And what exactly was I supposed to do?? Barb made me spit swear not to tell you _

Billy barges back into the room holding a gallon jug of water and two solo cups, and Steve ignores the buzzing of texts on his phone and sits up to take a glass. 

“Sorry, Tommy H was being an asshole and iced me,” Billy explains as he dumps water into their cups. “Fucker _ knows _ I can’t stand the green apple flavor, so he saves ‘em for me.” He licks at the roof of his mouth like he’s trying to get rid of the fake green apple taste, drains his water in a few massive gulps. 

“S’fine, I had to let the girls know I didn’t get kidnapped,” Steve says between swallows. _ God_, he forgets how _ good _ water tastes when you’re stoned and dehydrated.

“You want somethin’ to sleep in?” Billy asks, already rummaging through his dresser. “Those shorts won’t be comfortable.” He looks Steve up and down with a leer, throws a pair of running shorts in Steve’s direction before Steve can answer. 

“Thanks, B,” Steve says, standing up to strip down and slide on Billy’s shorts. They make his legs look all scrawny. Billy, on the other hand, looks like a porn star or some shit, standing there in his own short-shorts with his thick thighs on full display. 

“I’d offer you a shirt, but I sleep fuckin’ _ hot_, especially when I’ve been drinking, and we’re already sweaty enough as it is.” Billy flicks the overhead light off and the fan on, goes to pull the shades down, pours each of them another cup of water. “C’mon, hydrate or die-drate,” he singsongs as he hands Steve his cup. 

“I have to have the outside,” Billy offers with a little frown, like he’s worried, but Steve doesn’t fucking mind that at all, likes to press his back up against the wall even in his own bed. Billy throws half the blankets onto the floor, shoves Steve towards the wall, and curls in next to him. Drake’s _ Best I Ever Had _ is just barely audible, and Billy wiggles around so he’s comfortable, on his side with his head pillowed on Steve’s chest and one arm slung over Steve’s ribcage.

“This song’s _ so _ cheesy,” Steve says with a huff of laughter, and Billy smiles up at him, sharing the joke.

“What, I’m _ not _ the best you’ve ever had?” Billy pouts, drawing nonsense patterns on Steve’s side with his blunt nails. Steve shivers again, and Billy digs his nails in for a brief second, like he’s got a direct line into Steve’s brain and knows _ exactly _ how Steve likes to be touched when he’s stoned and horny. Steve wraps his arm around to Billy’s shoulder, trails his fingers over Billy’s skin, and Billy borrows in closer

“Mmm, we’ll see about that tomorrow,” Steve says drowsily. “Depends on if you buy me an All Star Breakfast.” Billy giggles a little, yawns hugely, and Steve lets his eyes drift closed, content to pass the fuck out even though it isn’t even midnight yet and there’s still a party raging right down the hallway.

<hr>

The sun’s _ so fucking bright _ when Steve wakes up, even though the blinds are down; Billy’s still asleep with his knee pressing, like, _ directly _ into his bladder and Steve needs to pee _ so bad_, so he disentangles himself and wanders out into the hallway, looking for the bathroom sign. He finds it pretty easily, yawns widely while he uses the urinal. His hair looks _ godawful_, so he fucks with it a little bit, tries to make himself relatively presentable before he goes back to Billy. 

When he comes back into Billy’s room, Billy’s luxuriating in the little patch of sunlight, eyes screwed tight closed. Steve looks his fill, pours himself another glass of water. 

“Morning, baby,” Billy rumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Steve’s gonna _ die _ if Billy’s just gonna start calling him _ baby _ all the time now, especially in that stupid-hot tone of voice. “Time issit?”

“Uh, almost nine?” Steve answers as he looks at Billy’s lock screen. 

“Mmmm,” Billy groans, burrowing back into the blankets. “Wanna beat the rush at the Waffle House or go back to sleep?”

“I’m hungry,” Steve says, honestly. “Plus Waffle House is gonna be _ insane _ if we go any later.” 

“Shit, you’re right,” Billy huffs, rolling out of bed. He’s got _ terrible _ bedhead and there are lines from the sheets on his cheek. Steve’s _ devastated_ just looking at him. “Come gimme a good mornin’ kiss.” He holds out an arm in invitation, and Steve puts down his water, lets Billy wrap him up in a hug and press warm, morning-breath kisses to his mouth. 

“Here’s some sweats,” Billy says, handing Steve a pair of grey sweats from his dresser. Billy drops his shorts, and Steve can’t help but stare as Billy wrestles into his sweats; Billy's ass is _killer_.

“You want a shack shirt?” Billy asks with a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t _ sound _ like he’s joking, so Steve chuckles, nods. He’s heard girls bragging about their collections of shack shirts, _ borrowed _ from the frat guys they sleep with for the walk of shame/walk of fame and kept as trophies. Billy passes him a shirt from some formal that’s been washed so many times it’s almost threadbare, and it’s so soft Steve suddenly understands why girls brag about these; he might never take this shirt off, it’s so comfortable. The fact that it smells like Billy’s cologne only makes it better. 

“My car’s parked in the resident lot,” Billy says as they’re walking out of the house, “I’ll drive.” The poor pledges are already out, cleaning up the mess from last night, and Billy detours from the sidewalk to give one of them knucks.

“Good fuckin’ work, Shorty,” he says encouragingly. “What time did they shut everything down last night?”

“Fuckin’ _ four AM _ , and I’m running on no goddamn sleep. Shit _ sucks_,” the pledge answers, rolling his eyes. He only looks a little exhausted, given how little sleep he must have gotten; maybe _that’s_ why they make pledges do all this bullshit, so that once they’re full members they can rage all fuckin night and still make it to class the next day. 

“Yo, this dime piece who was at the pregame last night said you were cute as fuck, I gave her your number.” Billy’s yawning again, squinting against the sunlight. 

“Sick, thanks, Big Billz.” He gives Billy an honest-to-god shaka, and goes back to stomping beer cans flat so they take up less space in the recycling bag he’s got with him as Billy steers Steve toward the parking lot with a hand on his lower back. If Billy ever _ stops _ touching Steve, he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw a goddamn tantrum. 

“Thank _ god _ for weed and water, I was planning on having the worst hangover of my _ life _ by the end of the week,” Billy says as they get into his car, squinting against the sun. “How you feeling, princess?”

“My mouth tastes fucking _ gross_, but I don’t feel too bad, shockingly,” Steve answers. “Is that, like, your pledge? Your _ little _ or whatever they call it in frats?” Billy bursts out laughing while he hooks his phone up to the aux cord. 

“_God _ no, he isn’t my _ little_, we aren’t in a _ srat_. He _ is _ my pledge, though. He’s a good kid, even if I’ll be glad when he’s a full member and I don’t have to babysit him so much.”

“Shorty’s his pledge name?” Steve asks, and when Billy nods yes, “What was _ your _ pledge name, then?” Billy blushes as he presses play on Spotify, nods his head along with Chance the Rapper instead of answering. 

“Oh, so it was _ bad _ then, or did they still call you _ Big Billz? _” Steve teases, and Billy ducks his head, bites his lip to hide his smile. 

“They called me _ Cali Fresh_,” Billy says as he pulls out of the parking lot. “It was _ so bad_, god.”

“Did they, like, _ haze you _ or anything?” Steve asks, burning with curiosity.

“I mean, hazing is _ against Tau Kappa Epsilon charter bylaws_, but if I _ were _ to describe our _ very intense _ and incredibly bonding initiation practices, I _ would _ have to kill you, so.” 

“I guess that’s fair,” Steve says, laughing, and Billy reaches out with his free hand, tangles their fingers together, smiles over at him sweet and honest when they hit a red light. _ Keep a tab on my exes, keep some "x" on my tongue, _ Chance raps, and Steve smiles back, lets all the shit he’s feeling cross his face.

Waffle House is, like, still pretty packed, considering it’s nine-fifteen on a Saturday; they order a frankly _ horrifying _ amount of food, and the blue-haired girl who takes their order doesn’t even flinch. Billy gets a coffee, orders Steve hot tea with a wink. 

“I know you don’t drink coffee,” Billy winks conspiratorially when the waitress walks away to put their order in, and, like, they haven’t had a morning class together since _ freshman fall_, how the _ hell _ does Billy even remember that? Waffle House tea is _ shit_, but, like, the gesture is sweet as hell. 

“Thanks, Cali Fresh,” he says, and Billy’s face goes all grumpy for a second before he wrinkles his nose and smiles. 

“I shouldn’t’ve told you that, shit,” Billy bitches, dumping three containers of creamer into his coffee in one go. 

“What_ ever_, you call me _ princess_.”

“I do that because you _ like it_,” Billy leers, slurps his coffee. He knocks his knee into Steve’s, looks at Steve like he’s _ starving_. “What, should I call you _ King Steve _ instead?”

_ Gross_. Steve’d almost forgotten about that stupid fucking nickname from when he thought he was hot shit, back in high school; the only one who still uses it is Tommy, and really _ he _ only uses it to be a dick. 

“Just playing, baby,” Billy offers when Steve doesn’t answer for a second, and Steve hooks his foot around Billy’s ankle, gives him a half-smile in forgiveness. 

“I brought y’all’s waffles first, I’ll be right back with everything else,” the waitress says, breaking the bubble of dreamy quiet around them as she plonks down plates on the cracked linoleum of the table. Somebody’s put enough cash in the overpriced jukebox to make it blast all of Toby Keith’s greatest hits, apparently, and somehow Steve isn’t surprised _ at all _ when Billy mouths the words at him between disgustingly large bites of pecan waffle, _ you know I got it, come and get it! who’s your daddy, who’s your baby, who’s your buddy, who’s your friend? _ It shouldn’t be hot, and yet Steve’s finding it harder to focus on his food even though he _ loves _ Waffle House hashbrowns. 

While they’re taking up table space grumbling about how full they are and picking at the remnants of their toast, Steve’s phone buzzes where he left it face down on the table. When he picks it up, it’s a photo of Nancy and Barb and some girl who must be Robin at Julia’s, huddled into the frame of a selfie around a full pitcher of mimosas, all three flipping off the camera. _ We don’t miss you at all, asshole, _ the accompanying text says. Steve doesn’t even miss the champagne, sitting here with Billy, overfull and happy, while the couple in the booth next to them argues like they’re about to start throwing drinks and their waitress is mean-mugging them like it’s gonna get them out the door any faster. 

“Hey, B,” he says to get Billy’s attention, snaps a photo of him surrounded by the carnage of an All Star Breakfast looking a little sleepy-eyed and _ stupid _ hot, hair all mussed and that fucking _ smirk _ that kills Steve dead every goddamn time. He sends off the photo to the groupchat.

“You wanna go back to mine or yours after this?” he asks all casual, as if he wasn’t just creeping. He shoves his phone into the pocket of his borrowed sweats, ignores the explosion of texts he feels coming through to look over at Billy.

“My roommate texted me all pissy, said he was coming back _ whether or not I was done with my orgy or whatever _, so yours if you don’t have a grumpy-ass roommate.” Billy steals the check from Steve’s hand while he’s distracted by the idea of getting Billy naked in his bed, drops a wink over his shoulder as he goes up to pay. Steve scrambles up after him, drops a twenty on the table as a thanks to the waitress, hovers right up in Billy’s space while he signs the receipt. 

They don’t _ run _ to Billy’s flashy vintage Camaro, but they don’t exactly, like, _ luxuriate in the walk_, either. Billy does those stupid fucking California rolling stops all the way back to campus like the campus cops aren’t trying to fill their ticket quota, and his left knee bounces the whole way back to campus like he’s annoyed by any fucking delay. That warm pit opens back up in Steve’s stomach at the thought that maybe Billy’s just as excited about this as he is. He can’t help but grab for Billy’s hand as they hike up the hill from the TKE parking lot to Steve’s dorm, and the spike of anxiety that rises in his stomach, wondering if Billy’s gonna pull his hand away, turns out to be unnecessary; Billy grabs his hand like it’s a lifeline, palm a little sweaty. It’s cute as _ fuck_, really. 

There’s a gaggle of girls in the elevator staring at them on the way up to Steve’s suite and Steve doesn’t want to give them the kind of show he’s pretty sure this is gonna be, so he tries to keep his distance. The second they’re alone in the hallway, though, he’s all up in Billy’s space, pressing kisses to Billy’s temple while he’s fumbling to get his key in the door. 

As soon as the door shuts behind Billy, his mouth is on Steve’s, hot and wet and _ hungry_. Steve’s _ knees _ are weak like he’s some _ girl_, like this is some romance novel or some shit, and he’s glad that Billy’s hands are hot on him even through his t-shirt, holding him upright. 

“C’mere,” he breathes into Billy’s mouth, tugs Billy towards the bed. He has time for about a half-second of sheer _ terror _ when he remembers exactly what a fucking _ wreck _ he left his room in last night when he was leaving, clothes all over the floor and blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed, before Billy’s crawling onto Steve’s mattress, adjusting the pillows under his head like this is where he _ belongs_, like it’s his world and Steve’s just living in it. 

He shoots Steve a look that’s almost a challenge, like, _ come get me, princess _ , starts pulling his wallet and shit out of his pockets to throw them on Steve’s desk. He stops long enough to fuck with something on his phone, and then PARTYNEXTDOOR’s singing _ doesn’t make sense now, shit just got real, things are getting intense now_, tinny through the phone speakers, and Steve can’t help but crack up. 

“_What? _ ” Billy asks all dramatic, like Steve’s _ bullying him _ or something. “C’mere, baby, lemme touch you.” He makes those little, like, grabby hands, and Steve crawls on the bed after him, picks up Billy’s phone and starts pressing the skip button. 

“This is, like, the most fuckboy sex playlist I’ve _ ever heard_,” Steve teases, throwing his leg over Billy’s hips and straddling him absentmindedly. “Like, the Calvin Harris remix of _ The Weekend? _ Fucking, _ This Could Be Us? _God, _ please _ tell me _ Best I Ever Had _ is on here somewhere.” Billy snatches his phone back with this guilty-ass look on his face that makes it _ fully _ clear that _ Best I Ever Had _ is _ definitely _ somewhere in the mix.

“Fuck _ off, _ it gets less fratty, you dick. Srat girls have, like, _ expectations_, you know.” Billy’s all defensive, but _ Heebiejeebies _ starts, cuts off Rihanna’s _ Sex With Me _ and, like, Steve’s not immune to the look on Billy’s face and Amine's singing with Kehlani and, really, he kind of has _ expectations _ of his own, like, he _ knows _ Billy’s a frat boy through and through, knows he _ likes that_. He leans down to get his mouth back on Billy’s, kisses him like he’s trying to _ impress_, which, like, he kinda _ is_, really. Nancy had wanted to take it _ super _ slow when they’d dated back in high school, had done this thing where she’d given him _ constructive feedback _ on his performance after _ every _ makeout session for the first, like, _ two months _ before she was ready to go any further. It had been a weird kind of ego bust for a while, but he’s appreciated it since, seeing what it does to his partners. 

Billy’s no exception as far as partners go, other than the fact that he gives as good as he gets. Steve’s brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears when they both pull back for air, and Billy’s eyes are glazed. They’re both hard as hell, both pulling each other closer like they’ll _ die _ if they aren’t as close as physically possible. Steve goes to ruck up the hem of Billy’s shirt and get his hands on the miles and _ miles _ of tanned, smooth skin he’s been fantasizing about for _ years _ Billy leans in to bite stinging kisses into Steve’s neck, grunts in displeasure when Steve’s collar gets in the way, and they both sit up, whip off their shirts in almost-unison. 

“_Jesus_, you’re hot,” Steve pants, and Billy huffs out a laugh, reels Steve in to suck at the marks Steve’s _ sure _ he’s already made with his teeth at the base of Steve’s neck. 

“You too, baby,” Billy murmurs against Steve’s skin, whines just a little when Steve’s thumb brushes against his nipple. “_Shit _ , feels s’good.” Steve’s breath is shallow in his chest, and he wants to, like, _ die_, like, he hasn’t felt this good during sex without being stoned maybe _ever_. Billy could _ ruin him_, and Steve would just let it fucking happen, would let Billy crack his ribs open and rip out his heart without a single protest as long as Billy was looking at him like he is now, pupils blown and mouth swollen and a little shiny with spit.

“Lemme go down on you, _ fuck_,” Billy asks, _ begs_, almost, and Steve lets out a stupid fucking noise like somebody’s punched him in the stomach at the very fucking _ idea_. 

“Okay, yeah, _ please_,” he hears himself say, feels himself nodding too much like a fucking idiot. “I wanna get you, too, B.”

“We’ll get there,” Billy says with a wink as he pushes at Steve’s hips to put him flat on his back. Steve’s torn, can’t decide if he wants to _ watch _ or if he’ll just embarrass himself that way, if he should just close his eyes and _ feel _ Billy’s mouth on him. It’s overwhelming, feeling Billy scraping his teeth over Steve’s nipple, dropping wet kisses across Steve’s stomach, setting his teeth in Steve’s hipbone. Steve can hear somebody huffing out these keening, shivery breaths that aren’t quite whines, realizes they’re coming from his own mouth a little distantly.

“S’at feel good, pretty boy?” Billy asks, breath hot over the tent in Steve’s sweats, like he doesn’t _ know _ just how completely he’s got Steve’s fucking number. 

“Yeah, _ fuck, _ Billy, you’re _ so good_,” he groans out, probably too loud. Billy’s fingers are warm as they hook into Steve’s waistband, and his palms skim over Steve’s thighs as he drags down Steve’s sweats and his boxer-briefs in one smooth motion. 

“Anything you don’t like? Anything special you _ do _ like?” Steve feels like he’s being _ punished_, like Billy’s trying to tease him, but, like, this is _ good, _ he recognizes somewhere in the back of his mind that Billy’s being, like, a _ really good _ partner, trying to make this good for Steve, _ talking _about stuff like Nancy’s always lecturing everybody about doing with their partners. 

“Just, like, _ anything, _ I mean, don’t call me anything mean or, like, choke me or anything _hard_ like that. I like--you can, uh, leave marks, somewhere I can hide them from Nancy and Barb or I’ll get shit on _ forever_.” He gets stuck, for a minute, distracted by Billy’s mouth on the thin skin of his inner thigh, and Billy has to prompt him to continue with a sharp little nip that makes him _ hiss_. 

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about this for two fucking years, shit, I’ve imagined this a million different ways and it’s already better than _ anything _ I dreamt up.” It’s a little too honest, probably, but Steve’s always had his heart on his sleeve. He throws an arm over his face to hide the blush he can feel rising. Billy’s weight shifts, and he pulls Steve’s arm away from his face all gently, peppers kisses on Steve’s face. 

“That’s cute as _ fuck_,” Billy says, voice candy-sweet, and, “I _ like _ that romantic shit, baby, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Steve wrinkles his nose, still a little awkward, but Billy doesn’t let him hide, just keeps talking between kisses, his tone casual like he doesn’t know _ he’s melting Steve’s brain _ every time he speaks. _ I’m scared of love, make it easy for me, _ SZA sighs over this trappy little beat, and, like, Steve _ feels that_.

“You can put your hands in my hair, I like that, but don’t be a dick about it, like, don’t push my head around. I don’t like that mean shit, either, not that you seem like that kinda guy. We probably won’t get to anything like this any time soon, but you can’t choke me either. So now that you know what I _ don’t _ like, I _ do _ like it when you talk and shit, I like watching people’s faces when I make them feel good, like, the shit that gets me off the most is knowing that my partner’s enjoying themselves, you know?” 

Steve can’t help his full body shiver, can’t help the stupid, broken little moan that comes out of his mouth, but Billy just kisses him, long and deep and thorough, and Steve can _ feel _ him smiling into the kiss. It’s cheesy as fuck, but, like, Steve can’t say he isn’t into it. 

“Just like that, baby,” Billy murmurs, and then he moves away, bites at Steve’s hipbone again. Steve lets himself keen at that, doesn’t give a _ shit _ what his neighbors might hear, like, he and Barb and Nancy are getting a house together next year, who _ gives a fuck _ if the dudes on the golf team who live next door know what he sounds like when he’s getting dicked down?

Billy looks up from where he’s got one of Steve’s legs slung over his shoulder and his arm holding down Steve’s hips and Steve is genuinely worried that he might come without even getting Billy’s mouth on him, like, this visual is going straight into his jerk-off material for fucking _ life_, Billy’s eyes dark and his mouth curved into a wicked smile that says _ I’m gonna be the best you’ve ever had _ and his back muscles thrown into sharp relief from the sun coming through the blinds. Then, Billy’s mouth is wet around him, tongue curling hot around his shaft, and Steve squirms, only keeps his hips from snapping up through sheer force of will. 

Billy’s intense in everything, like, he’s _ always _ got the volume up to eleven, but this is--this is _ new_. Steve feels like if he slips through Billy’s fingers he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces, feels like Billy would take the time to put him back together again afterwards. He weaves a hand through Billy’s hair, lets himself sink into the sensation, feels Billy take him deeper and wrap his fingers around what won’t fit in his mouth while Chance croons in the background, _ let me crack your back, let me rub you all over, take you down, oh_. He’s moaning loud enough that he’d probably be embarrassed, but, like, he can feel Billy moving below him, rolling his hips into the bed to get some friction, and if Billy likes it, Steve’ll make whatever stupid noises Billy wants.

He’s thinking to himself, like, this might be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him in his whole life, including that time Nancy tied him to the headboard and rode him ‘til he cried, when Billy pulls back, a thin, nearly invisible line of spit stretching between his mouth and Steve’s dick, and he knows for a goddamn _ fact _ that this is the the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Do you like teeth? Just like, a little,” Billy asks, his voice a little hoarse, and Steve’s hips jerk. He whines out an affirmative noise, nods frantically, and Billy smirks up at him, kisses up Steve’s shaft, lets the barest hint of his teeth graze against Steve’s skin, and Steve _ shakes_, feels like he’s going to fly apart. Billy laughs, teasing but not _ mean _ , and licks at Steve’s frenulum with the point of his tongue. It feels so, _ so _ stupidly fucking good that Steve actually _ cries out_, feels a stab of embarrassment for a brief second; Billy pulls off again, drops his forehead to Steve’s belly, and _ groans_, low and long, and Steve forgets the awkwardness, just wants to hear Billy make _ noises _ like that forever. 

“_ Jesus_, baby, you’re gonna _ kill me _ like that,” Billy pants. “You’re _ so fucking hot_, like, holy _ shit_.”

Steve’s groping for his words to say something, _ anything _ coherent, really, when Billy swallows him down, breathes out hard through his nose as he deepthroats, and, like, Steve’s been trying to hold off since Billy got his mouth on Steve’s dick, he’s only human, he can’t be expected to hold on much longer. He paws at Billy’s shoulder in warning, lets out a panicked moan, and Billy looks up at him again, makes searing eye contact as he swallows around Steve’s dick, and Steve’s a fucking _ goner_. 

“Shit, fuck, _ fuck_, _ Billy_,” Steve cries out. He feels like he’s having an _ out of body experience _ , like, this is the most intense orgasm he’s had sober in maybe his whole fucking _ life_. Billy doesn’t stop, just bobs his head a little until Steve curls inwards, whines high and thready against the overstimulation. 

“How you doin’, baby?” Billy rasps all cocky once his mouth's empty, as if he doesn’t already _ know_. He shrugs Steve’s leg off his shoulder, crawls back up the bed next to where Steve’s waiting for his brain to come back online, arm thrown over his face while he tries to catch his fucking breath. 

“Holy _ shit_, B,” Steve manages to say. “Like, I--holy _ shit_.” He opens his eyes, reaches out because he can’t _ bear _ not to be touching Billy right now. The smug fucking look Billy has on his face breaks a little when Steve puts one shaky hand on Billy’s thigh, the other curling back into the short hairs at the nape of BIlly’s neck. His expression bleeds _ wanting _ so strong Steve can _ taste it _ almost, and they lean in at the same time, mouths meeting hot and heady. 

Billy’s mouth tastes like come, but, like, it’s still _ Billy_, so it’s not as gross as it definitely should be. Steve trails his fingertips down the ridge of Billy’s hip bone, feels _ powerful _ when he feels goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. 

“Just, _ fuck_, just touch me, baby, _ please_,” Billy whispers, pulls Steve’s hand up to lick his palm. Steve takes it as a cue to wrap his hand around Billy’s dick, looser than he does with himself. 

“How do you like it, B?” he murmurs back into the humid air between their mouths. 

“Unh, just a little tighter, just, like, _ here_,” Billy tries to explain before he wraps his hand around Steve’s, tightens their shared grip. He lets out a strangled grunt like he’s trying not to be too loud, and Steve leans in to kiss him again, drawn in like a moon to a planet’s orbit. Billy lets go of Steve’s hand around his dick. Steve swallows the little moans Billy’s making while he rocks his hips into Steve’s hand. 

“A little faster, Jesus, _ please_, baby,” he begs, pinching at his own nipple, and Steve bats Billy’s hand away, rubs his thumb slow over Billy’s pebbled nipple, speeds up his hand. “Yeah, yeah, _ fuck_, jus’ like that.” 

Steve can feel Billy’s whole body contracting for a long moment, watches Billy throw his head back and let out a long, low groan as he breaks wide open, comes all over Steve’s hand and onto his sheets. Remembering how Billy’d stayed on him until he’d pushed him away, Steve doesn’t pull his hand away, just slows down, and Billy _ shakes_, curls into Steve’s touch and bites into the meat of Steve’s shoulder hard enough that Steve’s hips buck forward. 

“Ah, _ ah_, be _ sweet_,” Billy whines once he finally takes a breath, reaching down to bat Steve’s hand away. “Careful with the merchandise, princess.” His voice is slurred, not with alcohol and weed but with the high that comes from a truly _ great _ orgasm, and Steve presses a kiss to Billy’s temple, rolls away just long enough to grab a Kleenex from the bedside table and wipe his hand down. Billy pulls him in close again before he can throw the tissue in the trashcan, so Steve just tosses it somewhere on the floor behind them and puts his arms around Billy, smoothes long stroking touches down Billy’s back while he comes down. 

Steve’s half-dozing when he hears the fucking intro to _ Best I Ever Had _ over Billy’s breath slowing down. He laughs so hard Billy pushes him off the bed.

“_Babe _ , Billy, I said it as a _ joke_, I didn’t know you actually _ had it on this playlist_,” Steve howls, and Billy sits up, shoots him a glare that’s not nearly as scary as he probably thinks it is, given that his eyes are barely open and his hair looks _ so stupid_. 

“Alright, damn, I _ won’t _ tell you you’re the best I ever had,” Billy snarks back, no heat in his voice, as he falls back onto a pillow and closes his eyes. 

“I mean, you won’t tell me I’m _ not_, though,” Steve says, calling Billy’s bluff, and Billy smiles wide and sweet, eyes still closed. Steve _ knows _ he’s gonna be fucked up about Billy for, like, _ the rest of his life_, and really, he couldn’t be any happier. 

“Take a nap with me,” Billy says instead of answering, which is enough of an answer that Steve can feel himself smirking, satisfied in that _ I just made somebody feel really good _ kind of way. Steve scrambles back into bed, pulls a blanket over the two of them. “And _ please _ tell me we can take a shower later, I’m fucking _ gross_.” 

“God, we _ both _ are,” Steve agrees, mostly to stop himself from saying something stupid like _ yeah you are, and I really like it_. “Like, we both _ definitely _ still have other people’s sweat on us.” Billy wrinkles his nose, puts out an arm for Steve to cuddle into. 

“Don’t tell the guys I like to cuddle, it’ll fuck with my street cred,” Billy says nonsensically through a yawn. 

“We’ll see. Maybe I’ll tell Shorty, see if he’s a good enough pledge to keep it quiet,” Steve jokes, and Billy pinches Steve on the arm, playful. 

“Fuck _ off _ ,” he sighs, and Steve chuckles, yawns. “Now hush up so I can fuckin’ _ nap _, alright?”

<hr>

Later, when Billy’s using up all his good conditioner, Steve checks his texts again, sees the flurry of excited texts from the girls. Barb’s giving Steve shit for being into such a fuckboy, but, like, she’s_ dating a srat girl _now, so whatever. 

_ Jesus, he looks like he should be in a porn_, Nancy’d written an hour or so after Steve had sent the photo, when she was good and mimosa-drunk like she pretends she doesn’t get. She does that shit every week, drinks a pitcher or two of champagne and orange juice and texts Jonathan about what kind of wild-ass sex shit she’s gonna do to him at their regular table on the patio while she’s wearing some cardigan that makes her look like she’s the world’s most vanilla children’s librarian. She had stopped arguing about not being able to drive to the restaurant after, like, three weeks in a row of having to uber back to her car once she’d sobered up.

_ Lmao guess who’s going to see Girl Talk tonight apparently?? _ he texts them back, doesn't answer any of their questions. After a brief interlude of poking at the dark-ass hickey on his neck, his phone vibrates. 

Barb

_ Are u fucking KIDDING ME _

_ I’m gonna KICK UR ASS _

_ Wait nvmd Robin said she can get us both tix _

_ Wristbands what the fuck ever _

_ I’ll see ur ass in hell (or the Phi Delt house, which is basically hell anyways) _

Nancy

_ Nice!!!! _

_ Sorry I said ur boyfriend looked like a porn I guess? _

_ Jonathan said that was “rude.” _

_ Idk if he means because I’m objectifying your man or because I don’t tell him HE looks like a porn often enough _

_ Whatever tho it’s chill _

Barb

_ Nance I kno u and Jonathan r celebrating ur passed drug test and I love and support ur life decisions _

_ But like, _

_ Ur so, so, SO stoned rn right?? _

Nancy

_ Fuck you! no _

_ … _

_ Okay, maybe. Jonathan bought a new bong and I didn’t realize what a big hit I was taking, it’s fine. How could you tell??? _

Barb

_ Well first of all you told me and Robin about it at brunch, lil miss stoney _

_ Second of all, you have never said the phrase “its chill” sober _

_ Steve, I might need to come get some of those ugly pastel polos ur mom keeps sending u _

_ Party 2nite’s eighties themed and Robin has this precious lil sailor outfit from when her mom worked at a naval-themed ice cream store in like ‘85 _

_ It’s SO CUTE _

Steve hears the door open, and before he can turn around, Billy’s chin is hooked over his shoulder. Steve is _ absolutely _ taller, like, Billy’s on his tiptoes a little, but it’s cute anyways, and Steve leans one shoulder down so Billy’s not straining his neck.

“What do..._ The Gal Pals (and Steve) _ have to say?” he asks, reading the stupid ass groupchat name off Steve’s screen.

“Nancy said you look like porn earlier,” Steve offers, rolling his eyes a little. Billy laughs, rubs one of Steve’s hips absentmindedly. 

“Probably because I _ do_, baby,” he agrees. “Why has she only just now come to this realization?”

“I, uh, sent her a photo of you at the Waffle House earlier.” he scrolls up through the text thread until the photo’s showing, and Billy hums all approving. 

“Nice candid, really catches the _ I wanna fuck you but not until after I eat a bunch of carbs _ vibe. Can you send that to me?” Steve forwards it to him, huffs out a laugh. _ Nancy, you should apologize to ME, Billy is cockier than ever now_, he texts. _ Go get some orange vanilla coke, it’s SO MUCH BETTER when ur stoned?? _

Billy read over Steve’s shoulder, laughs. He pokes at the camera button, snaps a selfie. Steve’s smiling like a fucking goofball, and Billy’s making his best _ fuck me _ eyes at the camera. Steve’s hickey is, like, _ fully _ visible, but it’s kind of a cute photo. They’re both still shirtless, and honestly even after a nap and a shower they both look kind of fucked out. Steve knocks his hand away, but Billy reaches in lightning fast and presses the send button before he can delete it. 

“Ask her how we look _ now,_ princess,” Billy says, voice low and full of promise. He takes Steve’s phone, turns Steve around, drops Steve’s phone on the dresser and reels him in for a kiss.

Nancy

_ UM _

_ Is that just, like, his NORMAL EXPRESSION, have I just never noticed he’s that hot?? _

_ No, fuck that, he’s NEVER looked at me like that _

_ Also Steve that is the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen is Billy a werewolf or something?? Inquiring minds want to know!! _

Barb

_ YOU BOTH LOOK LIKE PORN _

_ Like, not my kinda porn, but, like, the kinda porn people pay actual fucking money for _

_ Robin wants to know if you 2 actually DID make a porno _

_ She says, and I quote: “Don’t ask me how I know this but that’s on his sexual bucket list” _

Nancy

_ Fuck you guys for sending me this when I’m too stoned to have a filter _

_ Steve explain yourself _

_ STEVE PLEASE _

Steve

_ Steve's, uh, got his mouth full at the moment_

_ Tell Robin we’re in a fight now_

_We can square up at the grl tlk show_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to my hellbrain. I meant for this fic to be WAY shorter and have, like, INFINITELY LESS worldbuilding but, well, here we are anyways. 
> 
> A few salient points:
> 
>   * Barb is a baby butch and Robin is futch as hell and Nancy is SUCH a lil dom.
>   * I did, in fact, make not one but TWO fratty playlists; [here's the link](https://open.spotify.com/user/nikwarr/playlist/2cfKCpWD6qJp1alfwNcs4K?si=CjWVxwJhROerfXJ1oRqHKw) to the general frat boy playlist, which is best listened to on shuffle, and
>   * [Here's the link](https://open.spotify.com/user/nikwarr/playlist/218G13o4Vm3KZc996fI2Rk?si=WQNv5Nx8ReyWm0VEt2yajw) to Billy's sex playlist, which is actually in order (and does, in fact, feature _Best I Ever Had_ as the last song, because I have seen not one but THREE frat boys who have it as the last song on their sex playlists???
>   * I realized (as I was editing lmao) that I had written a plot hole in having them all be sophomores and also all get served alcohol, but (a) Steve took a gap year (which is why they're all sophomores) and therefore is 21 so he can actually be served in the US and (b) having lived in a college town my whole life, there are PLENTY of bars in college towns that serve underage people, it's just a matter of finding them.
> 
> I have SO MANY feels about this 'verse, so if you'd like to see more, I am more than happy to do that!!!! Much love and appreciation in advance for any and all love/validation you sweet, sweet readers have for me.


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